


the rhythm of which we crave one another.

by lilys_bananas_coven



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cigarettes, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Madison Montgomery Needs a Hug, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Requited Unrequited Love, Sexual Content, Smoking, Smut, Unresolved Tension, Vaginal Fingering, can we please acknowledge this ship, it's implied but i didn't write much of it tbh, madison smoking is my aesthetic oops, wait i did write a lot of the smut oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilys_bananas_coven/pseuds/lilys_bananas_coven
Summary: Cordelia can't pretend for much longer.
Relationships: Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode & Madison Montgomery, Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode/Madison Montgomery
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	the rhythm of which we crave one another.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsterHowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterHowl/gifts).



> Alas, I have survived finals(mostly)!! I've waited so long to finally have the time to write and publish things here again you don't even know. Working on many things now so stay tuned for a bunch of stuff in the future but for now here's Madison and Cordelia being gay again like I said I'd write :) 
> 
> p.s. this is a gift to a starving shipper who needs more Madelia content in order to survive. also, idk how I feel about the piece because i had written most of it a long time ago and i'm constantly evolving so it feels weird but i still like it sort of hhhh.

Cordelia can’t pretend for much longer. 

Madison knows this, and she can only assume the woman herself is aware of it, too. She watches the older blonde through the haze of her cigarette smoke. Cordelia’s every move is calculated down to the millimeter. How does she want her fingers to twitch atop her desk, or her legs to be crossed, or each strand of her hair to fall against her shoulders? She knows all of it; almost as if there’s a part of her brain that works meticulously for the sole purpose of perfecting the way she presents herself, however flawed she really is. Cordelia is acutely aware of her being on a cellular level, and really, that’s what gives it away. If she doesn’t know something, it’s because she already does but she doesn’t want to. Cordelia Goode feigns disinterest in things like it’s a competition and by the Gods, she is fucking winning. 

She surely feigns disinterest in Madison like her life depends on it. 

Cordelia can’t pretend for much longer. 

Madison finds far too much pleasure in making the woman painfully aware of that. There’s heat loaded into every sharp gaze she uses to pierce Cordelia, little by little, like a needle trying to shatter bullet proof glass. She leaves blazing trails of invisible flames along the places her acrylics graze, and Cordelia is left alone to recollect and force herself to believe she’s got it under control. She doesn’t, deep down, but she’ll take that confession to the stake. Madison can’t see her losing it, she thinks, and sheds her tears in the safety of a bone-chilling shower because she just knows the blonde can. 

“Madison,” Cordelia breathes heavily, hands in fists around the edges of the counter top. 

Madison pauses her ministrations, fingers going still but remaining by the hem of the older woman’s skirt, nails barely digging into the soft skin of her outer thighs. She tilts her head upward, finding the arousal that is agonisingly present in the way it darkens Cordelia’s pupils and parts her glossy lips for hot, heavy air to escape them. Her chest heaves, barely touching Madison’s with each deep breath that expands in her abdomen. If only the fabric of her dress weren’t so thick, Madison knows she’d see the shadow of the woman’s hardened nipples straining against it. She decides not to comment on a single one of her numerous observations, however obvious they are. She just stares back, refusing to blink, and remains fixed in her place where she has Cordelia backed against the counter. She’s winning, now, because Cordelia’s taking a moment too long to collect herself. She’s cracking like expensive, fragile porcelain under the ever increasing temperature with which Madison watches her. 

“Stop,” the older woman finally manages to mumble. It’s shaky, and she clearly hasn’t found much of her words yet- another thing Madison notes in silence. 

“I’m not doing anything,” Madison whispers pointedly, looking down at her stilled hands as if to make sure she’s not moving them on her own accord. When she meets Cordelia’s gaze again, she’s had enough time to plaster a smirk on her lips, making the taller woman stiffen ever so slightly.

“You- you know what you’re doing, Madison. This is- it’s inappropriate-”

“What am I doing?” Madison cuts her off. She has all the power here, including what she’s drained from Cordelia in the long minutes of this short encounter. 

And Cordelia can’t find an answer. She digs and digs, on her hands and knees in the dirt, for something to say. It’s a stupid thing, really. It feels like preparing for a calculus test and forgetting how to do basic addition the moment the clock starts ticking. Cordelia is well aware of- of this, and yet, she’s at a loss for words when it really fucking matters the most.

_Pathetic._

She’s speechless when she has to speak; worthless when she has to be worthy. Madison breathes out through her mouth at the thought, fleetingly weakened by the feelings she refuses to name and the sick pity that follows behind it like a lost dog. 

To both Cordelia’s relief and dismay, Madison wordlessly steps back, allowing her enough space to breathe in anything that isn’t Chanel no. 5. Heat still burns like a damp pool in her silken underwear, something she knows she’ll have to put out with her own fingers later. She watches, lips parted and eyes unblinking, as Madison lights herself a cigarette and promptly leaves the kitchen without another word or glance her way. Yet again, she’s left alone to pick her pieces up. The glue of her facade loses its effectiveness with each time Madison shatters it, and she’s losing ideas as her bloodied fingers tremble to fix the shards back into place. She’s a mess, but she’s not ready to accept that yet. Smoothening her hands down the sides of her skirt, as if attempting to brush off the sensation of Madison’s lingering touch there, she takes a moment to compose herself. When the subtle look of alarm on her face is replaced with a neutral expression, she retreats to her bedroom. 

Cordelia short-circuits when the young blonde’s name slips past her lips in a broken whimper as she comes on her own fingers, convulsing under satin sheets. Shame washes over her in another violent wave, this one devoid of the pleasure that her orgasm had brought her- which proves to be pathetically short lived when she chokes out a sob at the realisation of it all. Her fingers serve as nothing but a reminder of how damned she is when she removes them from between her thighs to find that they’re coated in what had been Madison’s doing entirely. She drags her spent body into the bathroom where her tears are no more than water streaming from the showerhead. It’s easier to convince herself that way.

_What the fuck am I doing?_

She doesn’t stop thinking about Madison, even after she stops crying.

Cordelia can’t pretend for much longer.

Madison lights a cigarette on her way out of her and Zoe’s room. Kyle’s in there using his handful of brain cells to try and profess his supposed love for Zoe, and really, it’s just fucking disgusting. She isn’t actually envious, deep down, that the stitched up mass of mismatched limbs can get his happy ending and she can’t even get a good fuck from someone she’s actually interested in.

She isn’t. 

She can get whatever she wants, is what she always tells herself. But the reassurance in her mind grows ever so quiet when she spots Cordelia in the kitchen again, this time with her mask on where she wants it all over again. When Madison looks a little closer, a little harder, Cordelia remains emotionless as a figure built out of fine China. The hairline cracks in her handiwork aren’t as visible as they had been last night, and it makes Madison wonder what the woman must have done to step up her game like that. Still, nothing is enough for her nearly imperceptible flaws to be missed by Madison’s eyes that know just what they’re looking for. Cordelia is as broken as she is elegant, and she often appears as the human embodiment of elegance. Or at least, in Madison’s eyes she does. Fiona doesn’t see the inherent beauty of the intricate mess that is Cordelia like Madison does. No one sees things the way she does; for what they really are. It’s a blessing and a curse, she supposes, to be the only one who doesn’t fall for whatever it is Cordelia tries to uphold about herself. She’s the aftermath of a natural disaster just below her fragile skin, and Madison is the only one who can feel the tremors of the aftershock. 

“Good morning,” Cordelia speaks, lips hovering over a steaming mug of coffee.

Madison moves her head in a way that’s meant to be an acknowledgement. She often finds herself too preoccupied with over thinking Cordelia’s littlest movements and micro expressions that verbally responding to her feels like a chore. She tries to convince herself that that's the real reason; it's not that her heart constricts every time the woman acknowledges her presence and it causes all her words to falter before they can leave her mouth. She’s a master at subtle observation by now, considering Cordelia has yet to realise just how much time she spends simply studying her. The tip of her cigarette smolders with a fiery glow as she breathes it in, staining the filtered end with her lipstick. She removes it from between her lips, turning to blow the smoke out aside as opposed to right in Cordelia’s face. The older blonde almost looks surprised that she had even bothered to be considerate. The thought sends a scowl up Madison’s throat, but it dies before making a sound; she’s made this reputation for herself, anyway. She should be happy that Cordelia’s conditioned enough to assume the worst of her. 

Except things are different now, and Madison isn’t exactly looking to intimidate Cordelia anymore- not in the way she does now, at least. How unfortunate. 

When Madison glances up from her dying cigarette, she finds Cordelia already staring at her. She makes no move to speak or lose the staring contest right until the softest sound, like something akin to a sigh, passes Cordelia’s glossy lips. She’s the first to look away, fingers fidgeting around the handle of her mug. She then looks back up, meeting Madison’s unnervingly patient stare once again, and turns around. Madison watches her leave, mug in hand and white silk flowing softly in tune with the fluidity of the way she moves. Something inside her sinks, as it always does, whenever she has to watch the woman walk away from her. She stumps her cigarette into the nearest questionably suitable surface she can find, and leaves in the other direction.

There’s something about Madison that’s frustratingly difficult to figure out. She’s so many things at once, from the sharpness of her tongue to the rare displays of fragility that she surely doesn’t mean for anyone to ever see. But really, that’s the scary part. Cordelia shouldn’t want to know what it is about Madison that makes her the way she is, and yet she does. She shouldn’t care, and she shouldn’t want to, but she’s doing both. She can’t stop her weakened will from falling onto the magnetised path that is uncovering Madison’s alluring element of mystery, clothed in a dark veil. Anyone could say it's all a front; that Madison acts the way she does because she's some kind of 'Hollywood pawn', and Cordelia knows better, but she doesn't know enough. She wants to know. It will kill her, she thinks, to keep living in denial of her frightening truths- the ones where she admits to being absolutely intrigued by Madison in every way. She can’t do this- not to Madison, not to this coven in its entirety, and surely not to herself. 

She can’t. 

-

Cordelia can’t pretend for much longer.

Madison’s hands are mapping out her body, clothes be damned, as they run up and down the length of Cordelia’s sides. They go up just a little too high, barely cupping her breasts from the underside. They go down just a little too low, just about groping her ass. And Cordelia can’t speak, let alone breathe. In the overwhelming clouds of pleasure like the promise of a world-shattering storm she finds herself in, she manages to wonder just how she’s gotten herself in this position.

Backed up against another surface by Madison and smoldering from the inside out, again.

The younger blonde isn’t as rough as Cordelia had ever imagined she’d be. She figures a part of her had unknowingly linked the harshness of her attitude to the way she moves, but Madison is as gentle as she could possibly be, given the circumstances. What Hank would have left her feeling dirty because of, Madison turns into something strangely artistic. Cordelia finds herself enamoured simply because Madison looks to be thriving off of how breathless she is, spurred by her involuntary reactions to her touch. She should have known, really. Madison’s skills flourish where she has an effect on people, if the way she even makes a show out of how she smokes her cigarettes so perfectly is any indication. Everything she does, she does to be seen. And Cordelia realises just how long she’s been under this spell, always mere seconds from combusting, because she’s always seen Madison. She’s always seen her, even when she’s tried not to. 

Except now, she’s not trying. She can’t try not to see Madison, who’s all over her with her hands and lips and Chanel no. 5. She stares until her eyes fall closed and she’s too caught up in the sensations to keep them open. Madison kisses butterflies onto her neck, bared to her in submission. She stares until her eyes are shut tight with tears seeping out of the corners, because everything about this is too much and yet exactly what she knows she wants. She's a mess. Madison’s hands hold her waist like she’s more than just a human body; like she really means something. 

It’s overwhelming.

She can’t.

“M-Madis- stop, stop,” Cordelia finally speaks, abruptly and in stammers. She hates that she doesn’t miss the blatant hurt flashing across Madison’s face as she lightly pushes the girl off of her.

Madison backs up a few paces. She can only will the tears to stay inside for so long.They sting in that horrible way they always do as her eyes well up, watching Cordelia struggle to compose herself. She can't gather enough strength to move her feet and get herself as far away as possible from the suffocating air of the room, or her eyes to tear their watered gaze from Cordelia. The woman’s hands tremble and she takes a few shaky breaths before she can open her eyes again. They widen at the sight of Madison’s streaked cheeks and her trembling bottom lip. She steps closer to the crying blonde before she can think of reasons not to, reaches out with shaky hands before she can do otherwise.

Cordelia can’t pretend for much- she can’t pretend anymore.

The realisation of this scene being devoid of ill-intent is wholeheartedly devastating to Cordelia. It takes this sight before her to make her deluded mind understand. She does; she understands now, and it’s not an easy thing to believe. A part of her, nestled painfully deep in the depths of her mind and heart, has always understood. Nothing Madison Montgomery has ever done until this point in time has made it easy for Cordelia. There are feelings involved, real feelings that extend well past the point of mindless lust or attraction. The truth is a scary thing. Madison isn’t just trying to get under her skin for the cruel pleasure of seeing her crumble. She isn’t out to get her. She can't possibly be, when she's doing the one thing she's always said she'd rather die than do in front of another soul: she's crying. 

Cordelia understands, now. She understands that Madison has feelings for her. 

“Madison,” whispers the taller latter, hesitating for only a moment before cupping the blonde head in her hands.

It all fucking makes sense now. Madison has been gentle. She has been silent, compliant, and alluring. She has been just the right amount of absolutely everything that’s been plaguing Cordelia’s mind for an undetermined amount of time. Madison has been liking her. She couldn’t have been more blatant about it. Her frequent advances, ones that always ended the moment Cordelia could get a hold of herself. Her heated stares that were meant to send shivers down Cordelia’s spine- they did. The way she’s stayed out of the big fights in the coven and passed up uncountable opportunities to slice Cordelia up with her razor tongue. And yet, true to her unending need to keep her pride, she hasn’t said a single word. But Cordelia doesn’t need words now. She finally fucking understands- no, she's finally allowing herself to believe it. The truth has its way of shattering Cordelia like nothing else can, and she finds the last of her dying facade being pulverised under Madison’s watery stare. She knows she had never once been able to deceive the latter, now. It had all been for nothing. She had lied and tried for nothing, because Madison’s eyes see truth; they always have. She hadn’t fooled the single soul she had intended to. 

“Do you fucking get it now?” Madison seethes, voice cracking with a pain no one but her could ever feel. She makes no move to back away from Cordelia’s touch, because it’s what she craves even when the woman is the very reason she’s hurting, almost unbearably.

“I’m sorry, I- I don’t…” Cordelia breathes a sigh, trying again, “I don’t know what to say.”

Madison scoffs so hard it almost sounds like a growl. Her strength is unmatched despite her significantly smaller stature as she moves forward and pushes Cordelia along with her until the taller latter’s back hits the wall. Her hands reach up to Cordelia’s shoulders, squaring her as the woman looks down at her with an indecipherable mixture of expressions on her face. The woman’s hands never leave her face, desperate to keep her gaze.

“Just answer my question,” Madison murmurs, leaning in as she does so. 

Cordelia won’t pretend any longer. She won’t. 

A nod is all Madison really needs, now. And Cordelia does nod, whispering, “Yes. Yes, I do.” 

The kiss isn’t gentle like all the ways Madison had touched her before. It must be because what pours from her lips and into Cordelia’s mouth is unhinged desperation, relief, and every other feeling, each with its own taste. Madison kisses her with a fervour she’s never known, and she finds herself doing everything to give it right back to her the same way. With the air knocked out of her lungs, she breathes in all she needs from Madison’s overpowering lips and tongue. It’s enough, it’s more than enough. It’s burning through her pores and streaming down her cheeks and making her hands shake. It's bordering on too much, like it always does when the young blonde is concerned. Madison pours the raw emotion into her very being with each passing second that their tongues dance a dance that’s never been danced before until she’s overflowing with it. Her hands are on Cordelia’s waist, her own body pressed up against the older woman’s. Cordelia runs her hands through Madison’s blonde strands in a way that’s both tender and desperately trying to tell her all the things she can’t seem to find words for. It’s always been like this. She can’t speak when she needs to, and it’s quickly understood that Madison plays a huge part as to why. Her throat is caught up, and she feels like she’s dying, in a way, but Madison keeps breathing into her everything she needs to keep functioning. 

She can’t let go of her now. Not ever. She’s catastrophically broken, and for a reason that might never be put into words, Madison’s trying to put even the sharpest shards back into place. The blood from her torn palms glues Cordelia back together in a way she’d have never been able to do herself. It’s all so fucked up, really, but there is little that’s more real than the way they seem to need each other on a cellular level. 

Cordelia learns from the words Madison draws and kisses onto her naked skin that she hasn’t been what her delusions had always told her she was. Madison sees through her, and she always has. Whether her mother, or any of the other girls in the coven do, she isn’t so sure. 

But Madison isn’t like the rest of them. She knows that now.

Uncertainty lingers in the haze of Madison's thoughts, even as she has Cordelia trembling beneath her fingertips. That had been as much of a confession as they would get, and she's well aware of it. It was enough for her, anyway. Despite it, and perhaps as a result of years of fending for herself and doing nothing to care about others, she struggles to shake the steel off of her skin. A part of her, small and vulnerable and hidden, wishes Cordelia could rip it off of her and let her soul breathe. She has a feeling that only this woman could do that for her, when Cordelia somehow manages to kiss words into her mouth without having to say them.   
It's magic, perhaps, but only when they touch. 

In an attempt to feel less vulnerable than she is, Cordelia does anything she can to focus on something else- to focus on Madison and only Madison. In doing so, it becomes increasingly clear that the latter seems to be struggling with something similar. The desperation with which she seeks all the physical pleasure she can from Cordelia's body is enough of an indication. Cordelia feels her heart throbbing painfully in her chest at the sight of Madison's war clouded mind. She throws her head back and lets the younger blonde do as she pleases, which in turn results in her own orgasm. Her head is thrown back, fists white around the sheets and in Madison's hair as she cries her name out. Her thighs tremble uncontrollably with Madison's face between them, doing things to her that she feels ashamed of never having felt before, at her age. A flush colours the skin on cheeks to her chest as she pants. 

When Cordelia comes down from her high, chest slowing from it's heaving, she searches for Madison's face. The look adorning her features is unreadable, as it often is, but it's one she's never seen before. The blonde is just sitting there, shoulders tensed, unable to hold Cordelia's stare for more than a few seconds. It's a strange scene to behold. Cordelia sits up and reaches out for her face as she's turning away, fingers cupping the sharpness of her jaw to bring her back. 

Unshed tears make Madison's eyes shimmer ever so beautifully. 

"Madison…" whispers Cordelia, coming up empty with words even as she leans in closer. 

Cordelia decides that perhaps, she doesn't need words just yet, and presses her mouth to Madison's parted lips, watching for a moment as her eyes close and the tears in them are forced down her cheeks. She catches them, warm and wet against her thumbs, and blushes from the taste of herself that still lingers in Madison's mouth. She kisses her gently, with less desperation and more of her overwhelming need to do this right for Madison. There is an unmistakable fragility to her that’s bared itself, whether Madison realises it or not. Cordelia shifts, using her slowly replenishing strength to push Madison back against the mattress. They part from the impact with just enough space between their lips for Madison to gasp in surprise. 

She hasn’t stopped crying. She wants this. Cordelia pauses to brush her fingertips against the damp, soft skin under her eyes, a question swirling in her own. 

“C-Cordelia, I-”

“Hey, shh… tell me what you want, and we’ll do that. Okay?” Cordelia murmurs, and for the first time that day, she smiles genuinely. It’s warm, and it’s comforting, and it spills more tears from Madison’s eyes.

How does Cordelia get to feign ignorance to Madison in her entirety until she’s at her breaking point and then just… put her back together like she hadn’t been the one who ruined her? How does she get to take care of her now? How- why can’t Madison stop herself from letting her? Chains tug at her body, shackling her to her own feelings. The want to be angry dies as a different kind of flame licks at her nerve endings, setting her ablaze with warmth and an unparalleled need to be seen- to be cared for. Cordelia’s hands are soft against her face, as is her naked body against her own. She doesn’t speak, and after a long moment of contemplation, decides that she doesn’t want to.

It’s strange to see her own mess of a heart mirrored back at her when she looks into Cordelia’s eyes. It’s strange to find parts of herself, the ones that hurt the most, hurting Cordelia in the same way. They’re far more similar than they’d ever admit, and yet, comfort blooms like flowers in spring from the buds of uncertainty and unspoken words that swim around in the air between them. Because no one wants to be alone, and it’s human nature to feel comforted by the idea of another being sharing the same pain as you do. Madison is only human, after all, and Cordelia is too. 

There’s something they want from each other; a feeling they won’t name just yet. Until they do, all Madison does is tug Cordelia down by the neck, whispering, “Fuck me.” 

Because Cordelia isn’t pretending anymore, and Madison stops holding herself back. 

Cordelia kisses Madison and she takes her time doing it. With both of them being experienced in their own ways- Madison from her days of wild rebellion and Cordelia simply from how much longer she’s lived- their bodies coordinate effortlessly against each other. Madison complies at Cordelia’s gentlest touches, obeying and being rewarded in the way Cordelia always seems to know what she’s doing to her. It’s a welcome change to be with someone who can not only last more than five minutes, but who knows how to read her body like one of her spell books. She’s gentle where she has to be and rough in ways Madison wordlessly craves. Her perception spans far past anything Madison had thought it to be. Then again, Cordelia had done everything to blind herself from her until now. She feels herself being engulfed in it; in what sex feels like when someone cares. Her body flails precariously close to the edge of a cliff she’s never dived from before, and with Cordelia kissing her way down the length of her torso, she can’t exactly handle it. What she had craved for a painful amount of time is suddenly too much.

Before Madison can even speak through her breathless whimpers, Cordelia, somehow, knows she needs to slow down. She lifts her mouth from planting butterfly kisses onto Madison’s navel. She had been inching lower and lower until Madison’s overwhelmed body halted her actions. She climbs back up with worry in her eyes, searching for what’s wrong as she strokes the latter’s soft hair. 

“Do you want to stop?” she asks, and it’s tender, and Madison wants to cry again because she knows she’ll be okay no matter her answer.

“No, I just… no one really- no one’s really cared,” Madison manages to whisper, soft in a way that it’s only meant for Cordelia. 

“I’m sorry, I- that’s… Madison, hey,” Cordelia’s clearly at a loss for words, cupping Madison’s face in her hands that tremble with anger and hurt at the heaviness of the words, “let me take care of you, okay?” 

The question is whispered warmly against Madison’s parted lips. It tastes like truth- it tastes like care, when she leans up to kiss it off Cordelia’s mouth. She lets her head fall back against the pillow, and Cordelia only waits patiently for her to move first. 

Care; what a foreign thing. 

“Thank you,” Madison manages, and the words tremble with tears when Cordelia smiles back.   
The months that had led up to this moment feel eternities away. All it had taken was for them to shatter amidst the presence of one another, one last time. The last straw. They had been two intangible beings dancing to their own rhythms, despite their souls craving the same one; the one that they could only hear when they were with each other. Madison knew it first- or at least, she allowed herself to acknowledge it first. Cordelia crafted herself a mask, instead. But one rarely succeeds at fighting a desire of the heart, and Cordelia hadn’t been the rarity. Madison could have been the sculptor of Cordelia’s facade, for only she knew what could break it in the end. In an achingly similar way, Cordelia had also been the wound that only grew in Madison’s already damaged heart. It’s funny, ridiculous, really, how sometimes people manage to kiss things better. 

Cordelia’s fingers move slowly inside Madison, at her request. She kisses her on the mouth and the neck and under her jaw. Her whispers are hot against sensitive skin, asking if she’s okay and telling her how hot she is. Madison struggles to wrap her head around the way Cordelia does that, the way she takes care of her exactly like she had promised she would. It’s both a pleasant warmth that spreads throughout her body and an unbearable heat between her legs all at once, and Cordelia tips her over the edge like she’s done it before, though she certainly hasn’t. Perhaps once, in a far away dream. She comes on the woman’s fingers with a whimper, seeking out a kiss and letting Cordelia taste the rest of her aftershocks as she moans into her mouth. Cordelia brings her down with ease, riding the waves out before removing her fingers. 

Madison’s confidence returns to her the moment she doesn’t feel frighteningly vulnerable from her orgasm. She reaches for Cordelia’s hand with her own, staring her dead in the eyes as she pushes them into her mouth until her lips kiss the woman’s knuckles. Her tongue slides over and around them, teeth dragging lightly along the length of her digits just to watch Cordelia’s eyes darken again. Cordelia beats her to the kiss the moment her fingers come out clean, pressing her tongue against Madison’s. Her head spins from the unfamiliar taste that is only Madison’s, and somehow, they manage to stay gentle with each other. When they part, Madison feels a smirk returning to her face at the sight of Cordelia licking her lips like she’s trying to chase the taste. Still unable to find words, she settles on waiting for Cordelia to say something first. The silence isn’t suffocating, and she closes her eyes for a moment. Cordelia shifts to lay down beside her. 

“Are you okay?” she finally asks, sounding hesitant as she often does.

“Yes,” Madison whispers. She blinks and turns to face the latter. Then, after a moment, “Are you?”

“I am,” Cordelia smiles.

They’re blanketed in silence once again. Their bodies bask in the warmth of being so close to one another. It feels more intimate than Madison has ever felt. Cordelia is certain Hank had never been this warm. She doesn’t know how to feel about the way her mind compares them like it’s the most normal thing to do. She seizes the opportunity to speak the moment it feels easier in the slightest. Madison staring right at her might have something to do with the lump in her throat like a rock made out of nervousness. 

“Madison… do you know what it is you want from… this?” 

“I… I think we need to talk,” Madison sighs, but she doesn’t dread the idea of that as much as she should. They are talking right now, but not about the past months like they probably should. 

“That, we do,” Cordelia nods, turning her body to face Madison fully. With her fingers tracing the latter’s jaw, she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Madison closes her eyes at the sound of the apology. She leans into Cordelia’s hand for a moment, before opening them again. The latter’s honeyed gaze shines with tears. She places her hand on Cordelia’s, wrapping her fingers around her warm palm. 

“I’m sorry too,” she murmurs, absently brushing her thumb over her knuckles.

Cordelia shuffles closer, gently bringing Madison’s smaller body into her arms. She presses a kiss onto the crown of her hair, holding her close. Madison hugs her tightly in return, buried against her and protected by her warmth. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Cordelia asks, hushed and small and hopeful. Madison’s heart speeds up.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that!! Comments and kudos are much appreciated. Take care and stay safe everyone :)
> 
> p.s. i'm @lilys-bananas-coven on tumblr if you wanna be friends or send me prompts <3


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